


I'm A Saint To Complain

by pxncey



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kylo Amidala, M/M, Sort of crossdressing?, but I think it's more normal in this universe, colour is a BETRAYAL of the dark side, cos kylo's meant to be wearing Scary Evil Clothes 24/7, well whether it is or not it's still pretty taboo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:57:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxncey/pseuds/pxncey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo Ren's obsession with his grandfather is deeply set and immovable, and that is well known. What most of the galaxy is not aware of, however, is his much more quiet fascination with Padmé Amidala—or more particularly, her Nabooian heritage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stuckyinc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckyinc/gifts).



> stole the title from beck.

Kylo Ren's obsession with his grandfather is deeply set and immovable, and that is well known. What most of the galaxy is not aware of, however, is his much more quiet fascination with Padmé Amidala—or more particularly, her Nabooian heritage.

—

It's difficult to get ahold of makeup when everything in the First Order is rationed, but Ren has his ways, and if a Trooper notices him accessing a delivery port when it's clearly far below him, then he _deals_ with it. Snoke would be proud of his methods, he thinks, if he wasn't aware of the motive.

He doesn't dare start attempting to apply the makeup until he has a substantial supply, and he has studied his reference holos long enough to be sure he will already be good at it. Unfortunately, there is little to prepare him for how incredibly difficult it is for someone who is so accustomed to larger scale projects. It takes him a long while to master holding the brushes just right in his large, clumsy hands, so that he can draw perfect lines in red and black, and even longer to teach himself how to paint his lips so he doesn't look like a child having gorged on sticky luxis berries.

When he finally has a full understanding and a masterful technique, Ren doesn't hesitate to paint his face every evening he can once his training is finished. He is always careful to maintain a proud stride when he walks back to his quarters at night, restraining any urge to hurry faster so he can spend more time feeling attractive for the sake of protecting his secret. (For a large portion of his life—perhaps all of it—he has felt entirely terrible in his appearance: too large, too wide, every part of him just simply wrong, and now he can paint himself perfect, just like a Nabooian princess. Or, prince, perhaps... but he prefers princess.)

His favourite part of this new world of pretty things, he thinks, is the eyelashes. When he blinks in the mirror, it's no longer hinting at aggressive—it's suddenly alluring and soft, shadows fanning over his cheeks, thick black lines framing his eyes. He wonders if Padmé had pretty eyelashes, up close. All the holos he keeps of her are professional, distanced and always rather cold—although there is a warmth in her eyes, a _fire_ he can see if he looks for long enough.

—

Clothing is even harder to acquire than the makeup had been, but he manages. He is _clever_. He sends Troopers out one at a time, to bring back clothing from particular shops on Naboo, as possible evidence as part of a vital investigation. The Stormtroopers inattentively throw the clothes into their boxes to bring back to the base, but when Kylo takes them out he treats them with the utmost care. He holds them close to his chest, and cradles the soft layers of fabric in his hands, wondering if his grandmother ever wore anything like this.

He wears so many beautiful Nabooian dresses, every kind he can find on the market, with scooped out shoulders, strings of pearls down his bare back, fabrics so smooth they're almost slick against his fingers as he lifts the hem up to walk. (Clearly only within the confines of his quarters, or the universe would never hear the end of it.) It's a terrible, wonderful secret, and he keeps it with him everywhere he goes.

The secrecy is an enjoyable element at first: it makes dressing up ever more special, something that is his and his only. The effect does not last. Soon it begins to feel like a pressure, boxing him inside the confines of his chambers. He is never to express himself outside of his room—that anyone will see.

It's impossible to fit anything else underneath his layers of robes and cloaks, but occasionally he dares to wear painted lips under his mask—those are bold occasions, but the sense of confidence and balance that braving it yields is entirely worth it. His cape is bulky and coarse, and carries a heavy smell of metal polish, and there is absolutely nothing attractive about it. It is fittingly menacing: its only purpose is to incite fear, and it gives the desired effect, but Ren sometimes finds himself longing to break out of Snoke's mould and march down the catwalk to the holoproj in his favourite gown (a lovely long sleeved thing, in a deep shade of blue-black with stars sprinkled over the skirt and a thin band of gold around the waist).

He will never, though. He will never dare. It's almost impossible to imagine how horrible it would be were anyone to learn of his secret tendencies. Kylo Ren is not _allowed_ to be delicate, it is not _permitted_. (No one would understand how invincible it makes him feel, and how it could become his war paint and he could be _famous_ for it.)

—

Hux is known not to stick to schedules. A preposterous thing to say if you do not understand the details, but Hux truly does not comply with the First Order's officers' timetable. He will arrive early at his seat at the console, and refuse to retire until hours after his shift is finished. His mandatory breaks are rarely taken—Hux is of the utmost authority, there is only, perhaps one person, who could force him to comply, and he has never been forced before. Hux is a person who runs most efficiently when he is kept consistently busy, and Snoke knows this well.

The same cannot be said for Kylo Ren. He relishes the muscle exhaustion that comes with his lightsaber practise and the mental exercise that Snoke's teaching provides, and is never too quick to leave the training room, but he does not overwork himself and he complies with his assigned timekeeping chart for the sake of maintaining his health.

When Hux is methodically stalking the corridors of the base as he usually does around 9:53, he comes across Ren, walking so quickly he's almost stumbling towards his quarters (or perhaps past them), and wonders what in the name of heavens he is doing. "Somewhere to be, Ren?" Hux asks sharply. The Supreme Leader rarely assigns missions later in the day, it is counterproductive, especially for a mind like Ren's, which charges with sleep. (Hux is constantly at optimal functioning, sleep is merely upkeep for his body.)

"I've been training," Ren says. Not for the first time, Hux curses the vocoder for smoothing any tells in Ren's voice. "You'd hardly understand."

Hux squares his jaw. "I was top of my class in the Academy for hand to hand combat, you know," he says, each word filled with more bite than the last.

When Ren speaks again, his voice is lower, less smooth, and it runs through Hux like a rusty knife. "Must have been a terrible class."

Hux checks his watch, and looks at Ren for a moment, then resumes his stalking without a response.

It isn't often that an encounter can stir Ren enough to actually jolt his heart, but as he walks in carefully measured paces to his quarters, he can feel his chest pounding, and his nerves shaking. His helmet is a blessing and he is grateful, for the trembles in his face would have ruined any semblance of normalcy had Hux seen them

Kylo Ren feels, all of a sudden, like he is tainted because of this secret. He is fearful for the possibility of being exposed. He is weak.

Padmé wouldn't be scared, were she in his position. Would she? She was fearless, Kylo knows it, and her people adored her for it. There was a purity about her, the sort that only rises up from bravery.

That night when he dresses up, Ren imagines he is a senator, or a queen—an unrestrained political warrior with unbridled hope for his planet. He closes his shadowed eyes, and pretends that he is not fearful. He imagines that he is pure.

—

Ren will not answer his comm link, and Snoke demands his presence, and regretfully, Hux is in the middle of all of this. Snoke orders him to fetch Ren, in that terrible whispery voice with every word drawn out, and tells him to inform the boy that if he does not make his acquaintance in the next eleven minutes, there will be... consequences.

Hux wonders if this had been what Ren was hurrying from earlier. Perhaps he'd ruined something particularly important and didn't want Snoke to find out, and now that Snoke knew, he was going to be removed from the Order. Hux feels that if he were capable of breaking outside his disciplined state, then he would be smiling.

There's an unspoken rule in the First Order, one that's typically adhered to by everyone who wants to keep their head attached to their shoulders: the direct comm link on Ren's door is not to be touched. Hux is rather fond of his head, but he disregards the rule without much thought—Snoke's consequences are sure to be much worse than anything Ren could do to him.

"Ren," Hux says, his pointy finger holding down the comm button. There's no response, and his mouth curls down sourly. "Ren, open the door this instant."

"I'm not to be disturbed right now," Ren says in the deepest tone he can possibly achieve without the voice modifier.

"Snoke requires your presence."

A brief silence rattles the empty halls, and then Ren speaks again, in a decidedly less dignified voice. "Tell him I am temporarily unavailable."

"He insists you be there in," —Hux checks his pocket watch— "nine minutes."

There's an audible clatter from inside Ren's quarters, followed by some unbecoming gasping sounds. "It pains me," Ren says after a moment, sounding short of breath, "physically, to admit this, General, but I find myself in a... situation, of sorts."

Hux resists the urge to smile again, what would most definitely be a very ugly, smug smile, because Ren is admitting defeat. He needs _help_. "Do you require a Stormtrooper to assist you, Lord Ren?"

"Unfortunately," Ren says, "it has come to my attention that you are likely the most trustworthy presence in range."

Hux pauses. "You require my help," he states, raising an eyebrow. "My help, specifically."

"To my _dismay_." Some indistinguishable noises muffle through the walls as Ren makes his way to the door release. "If you speak to a soul about this, General, then you will find yourself excluded from the Order by the hour," Ren says severely, before he opens the door.

Hux is not sure what he was expecting when Ren told him he had a 'situation', but it most certainly was not _this_. The boy is wearing a peach coloured gown with lilac flowers embroidered down the front, and his face is— and his _hair—_

Ren reaches for Hux with his one silk gloved hand to frantically usher him in, and Hux follows, his frown set so deep in his forehead he thinks it could be permanent. The door seals with a hiss of air, and Ren's hand goes to his mass of hair, tangling it viciously. His dark curls fall from their ties, settling in loose waves around his neck, and all that remains are two small plaits looping around his head like a crown. "I need help," Ren says, an uneasy tremble to his voice, "getting out of my clothes."

"Explain," Hux demands. " _Why_ are you wearing this?"

Ren pulls his other glove off, and growls. "I refuse to explain myself right now, especially to you. If you don't wish to betray Snoke's trust, then give me some assistance." He turns to face away from Hux, and brushes his hair out of the way of his back.

A row of tiny buttons hides under a sheer layer of cream fabric, something like a cape down the length of Ren's back, held in place by a fine silver chain around his neck. His skin is half bare: the back of the dress starts halfway down Ren's spine, and Hux closes his eyes briefly, and with great reluctance, starts to unfasten the buttons.

Hux is unsure of what will happen when he has finished work on the buttons, and Hux does not like to be unsure. In the Academy, it was nothing short of ordinary to change in front of the other boys: everyone shared dormitories, and privacy was little more than a joke, but letting Ren change in front of him when he's dressed like this makes Hux feel wrong, like he's disrespecting a woman. The thought is preposterous, but he can think of little else as Ren fumbles with the baby pink clasps on the front of the dress.

When Hux takes his hands away, he realises that there is a lot more to do and he cannot just turn away, and blanches. He presses on the comm link clipped to his belt to explain to Snoke as best he can what's happening. "Supreme Leader," he says. "There's been a... situation. Everything is under control, but there will be a short delay in bringing Ren to you."

Snoke's bristling is so prominent Hux can practically hear it, and he briskly rattles out a formal apology, before disconnecting the link, and turning back to Ren. Ren has turned around, and is watching him, with a disconcerting look on his painted face. "You didn't tell him," Ren says.

Hux narrows his eyes. "It's clear you didn't want me to." He watches Ren's face for a tell, partially grateful for the absence of the mask and the way it lets him read Ren so easily, but also rather distracted by how different he looks. The angles of Ren's disproportionate face are not smoothed out by the makeup he's wearing, but emphasised in such a way to make everything look like it belongs, and Hux can't help but think of how much stronger he looks, like this. His mouth settles in less of a pained grimace and more of a natural line, and his skin is younger, his whole face is younger, but naivety is the last thing Hux sees in his fierce eyes.

"Undo these fastenings," Ren says, and Hux's eyes tear away from his cheekbones. He taps at his chest, where another line of buttons crosses his collarbones, and several fastenings keep the cape attached, along with the chain around his neck.

A lock of Ren's hair is caught on the chain, and Hux sweeps it away before he touches the first clasp. The room is silent in the way that any small sound seems to be absorbed by the walls before it can make a noise.

Ren's gloves lie on the floor, crumpled and half inside out, and he mourns for them. They were silk.

"It's traditional Nabooian dress," Ren says to Hux, after a while. There is dangerously little rage in his tone. "My grandmother was a queen."

"I suppose that would make you a prince of some kind," Hux says.

There's something in Hux's voice that disturbs Kylo, and he doesn't continue the conversation.

Two minutes and four hundred tiny buttons later, Ren is in his undergarments ( _women's_ undergarments), and Hux decides that he will not be of any more help. "I don't suppose I might be excused now."

"No," Ren says, his shoulders drawn tight to his torso. A red flush is creeping its way along his pale olive skin, from where his neck disappears under his hair down to his sides. "I still need... assistance."

Hux eyes the underthings—they look heavy, much heavier than the floaty, peach coloured layers of the dress itself, and he dreads to think what more fastenings and buckles and buttons are concealed under the grey fabric. Instead of voicing his concerns about the nature of the garment, or in fact, any other thought on the surface of his mind, Hux says, "Are you wearing anything underneath that?"

"Yes," Ren says, but his neck turns redder.

Hux exhales, and takes a step closer again to put his hands on Ren's hips to search for some sort of fastening. He can see all of the individual freckles and moles scattered over the boy's back without even trying, and he can hear Ren breathing, a little unsteadily. _Hells,_ he thinks, _if any of the other officers had to put up with this_. It's far too intimate a job for someone with intelligent thoughts. This is droids' work, for heavens sakes.

The layered undergarment proves to be surprisingly easy to remove, and it ends up being Ren who finds the dreaded fastenings. Hux scowls at Ren, and leaves the room with haste the moment the ordeal is over. He steps into the nearest 'fresher, and washes his hands methodically, the closest thing to an expression on his face that's surfaced in years. He isn't sure what it is, though, that his face is trying to express. He is dually frustrated and faintly curious at the boy's tedious activities, but there is little else to it.


	2. Chapter 2

Hux never finds out what Snoke so urgently required Ren for, but it isn't really like he was expecting to.

Ever since the ordeal, Ren has acted a little differently around Hux. He's more guarded, and his anger towards Hux is generally expressed less by senseless lashing out, and more of a deep set darkness—one that's so intense it radiates from him and intrudes into Hux's thoughts.

Hux, on the other hand, is unaffected by the incident. He doesn't dally over the thought that underneath that hideous helmet and heavy cloaks could be a prince with a face painted like a fierce lady. He most certainly does not dally at all.

—

When Hux arrives at his workstation at the console, the ship is half quiet. This is a brief shift where most of the officers and Troopers are still permitted to sleep, and Hux can never decide whether he enjoys the silence or despises it for how it signifies a complete lack of productivity.

After an hour or so of commanding about thirty men, the ship begins to show more signs of life, and by the minute, officers arrive at their stations and start analysing and projecting and working.

Hux feels an inflated sense of esteem when he sees a few of his officers whose shifts he knows have not begun yet put on their headsets and start work minutes early. His ship is flowing smoothly, and his mind is working with jewel movements.

A pair of Stormtroopers approach him around mid afternoon ( _and everything had been going so well,_ he thinks), and he grits his teeth and prepares for the damage (most likely Ren-related)—but they only tell him that the alleged knight has been missing from his daily route since yesterday. Hux knows exactly the solution: storm the lazy oaf's room and tell him Snoke needs him up. (Unless, of course, Ren is legitimately missing, but Hux highly doubts that. There aren't many places he could go.) "I take it nobody has checked Ren's chambers?" Hux asks.

"No, sir," one of the Troopers replies in its grainy, modulated voice. "Last time TN-4771 and 4810 asked him to vacate his room he took their heads. Captain was not happy, suggested we did not do that again."

"Hells," Hux says, and pushes past the Stormtroopers. Unsurprisingly, they do not follow as he makes his way to Ren's quarters.

When he arrives at the door, he can hear nothing inside. He doesn't bother with the comm link, and finds the door override on his datapad. The door opens with its signature hissing of air, and Hux steps inside to search the room. "Ren," he begins in a flat tone, "I have reason to believe that you're - "

He finds Ren quite abruptly, standing near the bed, wearing a long red dress. Perhaps Hux could have anticipated this, but he hadn't _really_ believed that the dressing up instance would be more than a one off.

Hux doesn't stare, per se, but he looks for a very long time, and Ren looks back, with markedly less surprise than Hux, and much more startled rage.

"Shut the door," Ren says, and Hux taps the button for the close mechanism. Ren closes his eyes and presses his hand to his face. "I meant with you on the other side."

"Ren," Hux says. "What is the purpose of this?"

"It's none of your concern," Ren says forcefully. He looks devastatingly powerful, and it's making Hux uncomfortable.

Ren's skin is dusted with gold powder, and his mouth is painted with a sharp line of red. His cheeks glow in the vague, uncentred lighting of the bedroom, giving the illusion of a fresher, kinder face, but hardly a naive one. He looks like a queen. Hux gets an impulse to tell him so. "The Troopers say you've been absent since yesterday," he says instead.

"I was busy," Ren says, waving his hand.

Hux thinks it must be unintentional, but there is exaggerated flair in each of Ren's movements; each awkward step and pivot seems light and perfectly executed, and even when he blinks it looks somehow sleek.

Hux does not want to look. He watches the wall beside Ren. "This organisation doesn't allow for distractions," Hux says curtly. "Especially not petty ones like whatever in heaven's name this is."

His eyes betray his detached tone. Hux finds himself watching the muscles in Ren's gloved arms as they tense, and following the edges of his form up to his jaw, sharp and uncovered, along the contour of his cheek up to his brow where a delicate gold chain sits, three small white gems hanging from it, balanced on his forehead.

"General," Ren says in a low tone. "Be wary the space between authority and genuine power. This is hardly any business of yours to control."

Hux steps closer, and squares his shoulders. "If it's on my ship, it's my business. _Explain_ yourself." Hux hates being in close proximity to Ren, but it's the only way to establish his dominance in the situation. Ren towers above him, a tall creature of mass and muscle, and here he stands in some sort of two piece gown, and still his power does not diminish. Hux gazes at him coldly, and imagines himself on a pedestal, and begins to feel himself regaining control again. He flexes his fingers, and narrows his eyes at Ren.

Ren's face twitches slightly, a tiny microexpression, and for a moment all of his stately power is lost and he appears rather terrified. Then he snaps, "I don't pry into what you do in your quarters after hours."

"That's the issue," Hux says. "It's eleven hours in the morning, standard time."

Another twitch, and Ren breaks Hux's gaze to look at the holochron on the wall displaying the time.

"A little lapse in awareness, Ren?" Hux sneers and tilts his head to the side complacently.

"My display must have been wrong this morning," Ren growls, and rips the fingerless gloves off his wrists. "Leave. Inform the Supreme Leader that I will be at his command within the minute."

Hux turns, and presses the door release. "That's rather significantly less time than it took last time," he says, "but don't let that stand in your way. I'm sure you can fit those plaits under your helmet." He walks out, and disappears down the corridor with Ren snarling in his dress behind him.

—

Kylo wants to shred the dress he wears, just to let out a little of the Hux-induced rage that's searing under his skin, but he can't bring himself to. He slides out of it carefully (thank Force for the lack of fastenings on this particular garment), and folds it into a small space at the bottom of his storage unit. The gold chain on his forehead is less easily removed, as it catches in his unmanageably wavy hair, and he worries about damaging the gems as they clink together with each move he makes. Eventually he is bare of all of his favourite clothes, and stands in the middle of his room pulling on his robes and layers, the dark red paint on his upper lip and in two spots on his cheeks the only part of the illusion still intact.

He curses Hux, as he lifts his helmet onto his head. He stalks down the halls of the Finalizer, and he curses Hux and his stupid officious face, and his horrible evil mind.

Snoke claws into Ren's head when he stands before the oversized holoprojection, and patronises him with clever statements about the consequences of letting things break due to weakness on the inside, and Ren leaves the audience chamber thrumming with anger, with violence in his veins.

—

"Nineteen thousand credits for one console replacement," Hux spits at Ren, who stares at him through the mask. _"Nineteen thousand_ you've cost this organisation, just for your inability to control your own emotions."

Ren tilts his head up, and Hux wishes he could smash that helmet and the skull inside it. "The Supreme Leader has expressed no discontentment at my methods of stress release—"

"You mean your petty fits of rage, you pitiful child," Hux snaps.

"General," Ren says through the voice modulator, deep and simple. "Perhaps you should go about finding a method of emotional release of your own."

Ren leaves him, and Hux grinds his teeth. The remaining personnel (the glowing several that did not evacuate at the first sign of dispute between himself and Ren—Hux will give them all promotions later) dither about and glance sparsely at Hux, who curls his lips into a downward sneer.

Ren is not the one who has to manage how the bill will be paid, or the one who has to organise which company the repair service will be provided by—there are only several left out of those that the First Order hasn't burned to the ground that will still supply them.

There is a profound sense of anger floating around Hux's mind. Hux deduces it to be Ren, still seething somehow from their (unfortunately one-sided) argument, but soon it occurs to him that there's no external source: Ren is not broadcasting, the anger belongs to Hux.

Hux thinks about Ren's comment on his 'methods of emotional release'. Perhaps it would benefit him to visit the training room once in a while. It's not too uncommon for officers to exercise there, as far as he knows.

He comes to learn, when he walks into the training room that evening wearing the looser clothes he obtained from the commissary for this specific purpose, that it’s far from uncommon for people of his stature to visit. The room is completely filled with junior and senior officers from every department. To his bewilderment, not a single person notices him, and he has to clear his throat and say, "Officer?" to get just one face to turn around. The woman whose attention he managed to catch is not somebody he recognises, but she seems to know him. He isn't surprised. With almost no hesitation, she vacates the bench and slings the weighty dumbbells she had been lifting onto the rack, then steps back for him.  
  
Hux raises his eyebrows. He hadn't expected there to be such a high level of courtesy among people perfecting their attack skills: he'd somehow thought that although he is senior to them out on duty, it would be different inside this room... That there would be a new hierarchy of some sort. It had certainly been that way at the Academy—he recalls that nobody had cared about his descent in the training room, although outside had been a rather different story.

He seats himself on the bench, contemplating which weights would be suitable. From what he can recall from the individual training sessions at the Academy, he was fairly good at weightlifting, so he selects a pair from the heavier end of the rack. It's cool in the training room, despite the aura of heat every individual body gives off, and Hux's sweat dries quickly on his skin as he lifts the weights. He exhales roughly and his eyes catch on the centre training mat. There is no one sparring there. He doesn't know how one would ask to begin. He thinks, perhaps, he might like to try hand to hand combat again—it occurs to him that he hasn't fought like that since the Academy. He's sure he'll still be good at it. Then he could prove Ren wrong.  
  
An hour passes, and Hux realises that he hasn't looked at his datapad since he arrived here, and he's only feeling a faint urge to now, probably purely stemming from the obligation to check on how things are running on his ship. His anger is somewhat diminished.  
  
Clearly Ren hadn't meant to give Hux genuine advice, but it certainly worked. Hux feels smug in utilising Ren's own stupid insults against him. The result benefits him doubly. Brilliant, Hux tells himself. Absolutely brilliant.


End file.
